While the Children Sleep
by JennMel
Summary: On the bank of the Great River, while most of the Fellowship sleeps, one Hobbit remains awake, listening to a hushed yet heated argument between the Men of the company. The undeserved guilt of the one who shoulders the blame.


Author Notes: This is an idea that has practically kicked me in the shins every time I see the scene in the extended DVD on the bank of the Anduin, where Boromir and Aragorn are arguing and unbeknownst to them, Frodo is listening. It always stuck me as very much like when kids overhear adults fighting, and immediately assume it's their fault. This is my take on that scene.

Disclaimer: I own nothing:(

**While the Children Sleep**

Sam's light snores filled the air in the camp, mingling softly with the languid current of the Anduin. Instead of Sam being unable to sleep, it was Frodo. He lay awake, scared to shut his eyes for fear of seeing all that should not be etched into his closed lids. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut tight, so that stars danced. Try as he might, the night air, for him, was constantly pieced with the final words of Gandalf, the chill of the mountains, and the unbearable heat of the Balrog's flame. When had this all become so hard? It was a ridiculous question; it had always been hard, he had just been better at hiding his fear. But now what? If the quest could take someone like Gandalf, then what hope was there for the rest of them? One by one, the darkness that already lay as a lingering shadow behind Boromir's once clear eyes would soon penetrate them all. Gandalf himself could not touch the ring, and Galadriel was changed by its presence, albeit momentarily. How were they to make it, when they had barely even touched the danger that lay before them?

"Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know it. From there we can regroup, strike out for Mordor from a place of strength." Frodo blinked out of his thoughts, turning his sight outwards. In the quiet of the forest, Boromir's clear yet hushed voice carried easily across camp, although he had clearly intended it to be heard away from the majority of the Fellowship's ears.

"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us." Frodo shivered involuntarily. He hated this. Boromir would start, Aragorn would be swift to respond, and Gandalf… Gandalf used to be able to silence them. They were constantly warring, two men with goals so similar that they conflicted irreparably.

The Ring. It poisoned the tongues of the Fellowship, corrupted men who by rights should never have laid eyes upon it. It was the same as in the chambers of Lord Elrond. Back at the Council, Frodo had felt the arguments building, the tensions rising. He had felt the Ring laugh with its Master when Gimli had attempted to destroy it with rash thinking, he had seen the Eye smile an invisible smile as the peoples of Middle Earth fought and tore the rifts between each other ever further apart. The stricken feeling of responsibility mingled with inexplicable guilt had built up within Frodo as it did now, as it had been ever since the Nine had left Imladris. And the consequence of the loud and tense voices had caused him to take the title of Ringbearer.

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves. Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honour to be found in Men. But you will not see that." Why couldn't everyone be at peace? Why did they always argue? The answer was simple, and Frodo knew it in both his heart and head; it was him. If it wasn't for him, his decision to go into Moria, his decision to take the burden of the Ring, then they wouldn't fight, "You are afraid! All your life, you have hidden in the shadows!"

Blankly, Frodo stared ahead, unmoving for fear that the Men would know he was listening. He was not parley to their argument, he was its subject. He was the reasons tensions rose and exploded as they seemed to so often. Gone were the smiles seen what seemed like an age ago, when the two Men happily taught two of Frodo's kin to wield a blade. The Ring that he carried had sucked those smiles away. "-Scared of who you are, of what you are." Frodo desperately wanted to cover his ears with his hands, to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend he was back at Bag End.

"I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city." Aragorn's hiss was a warning to Boromir, both that the argument was over, and that he should be quiet, lest he awake the others.

Far too late, the Men departed to separate ends of the camp, not noticing a slight movement by the Hobbits, as the dark-haired nephew of Bilbo Baggins reached under his shirt and made a fist around the hateful Ring, his gazing eyes different, if just fractionally. Gone was the uncertainty and guilt of knowing that he would be a burden all the way to Mount Doom. The answer was simple.

All journeys are made alone, even those taken in company. But if he ran away, if he freed them of their responsibility, then he could make his journey alone, without fear of being the cause of their pain.

**FIN**

Author Notes: Short, but I hope you enjoyed it. Please review, as my last attempt at this fandom was nothing short of disastrous (muse shudders at the thought of fanfics prior to its arrival, when the plotbunny had full control). Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts:)


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